


Final Gift

by Laparoscopic



Series: EGS [14]
Category: El Goonish Shive
Genre: Death and Dying, Far Future, Friendship, Illustrated, Magic, Transformation, dying well, end of life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laparoscopic/pseuds/Laparoscopic
Summary: Distant future story.





	

Cursing softly under her breath, Susan finally managed, with trembling hands, to slip the last two pieces into place in the large ornate bracelet. With a little pressure, they _clicked_ into place. She sat up, caught her breath for a moment, then slipped it over her hand. It was somewhat depressing, but hardly surprising, how loosely it fit around her bony wrist. She leaned back in her chair, slightly breathless from her efforts, then closed her eyes and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

Grace’s face appeared on the little screen on the arm of her mobile chair, without a by-your-leave or announcement tone. “Susan? Are you all right?”

Susan smiled slightly without opening her eyes. “Hello, Grace. I thought you might be calling.”

There was a slight pause, then Grace said, “From which I assume you already know there was a surge of magical energy near you just now.”

Susan opened her eyes and looked down at the image of her old friend. Her oldest friend. “Yes.”

Grace waited a moment, as if hoping for more explanation, but when none was forthcoming, she said, “This alert came directly to me. Do you want to explain it before I dispatch agents to investigate?”

Susan puffed a dry breathless laugh. “Was always pretty sure you had magic monitors placed around me. Your Men in Black are everywhere.”

An old familiar look of annoyance flickered across Grace’s face. “I wish you wouldn’t call us that.”

“Yes, well, if you won’t tell me what your group’s name _really_ is, that’s what I’m going to call you.” She paused a moment to catch her breath, then lifted her wrist into the camera’s view, pushing the bracelet up her thin arm so Grace could see it.

Grace looked stunned. “Is that…”

“A transformation bracelet? Yes.”

“But how…” Grace frowned, then shook her head. “Tedd.”

“Yes. He found a way to break it down into component pieces which were magically inert, thus undetectable. But they resume function when reassembled.”

“That’s not… that shouldn’t be possible. A magic artifact is a singular thing. Breaking it into pieces should just give you a pile of inert parts, even after you reassemble it. Not without casting some sort of activation spell.”

“Are you saying _Tedd_ couldn’t have done it?”

Grace shook her head. “Not even Tedd. Not without some fundamental breakthrough in magical theory, or…” she trailed off, looking slightly stunned, then sad.

“Just so.” Susan took in Grace’s sad visage, and softened a little. “Tedd loved you, Grace, but you know he never fully agreed with all of… your organization’s objectives. He kept a few secrets for himself.”

“From _me_.”

“Yes.”

“But he told _you_?”

“Only recently.” Ten years ago being _recent_ , at this late stage of life. “He felt someone needed to know of his work. And I’m the most removed from that world, especially after Sarah’s passing. He felt I would be one of the last places you’d look.”

Grace turned her head away from her camera for a moment, so Susan only saw the back of her head. When she turned back, her sadness was gone, her face set in grim professional determination. “Right. Well, I’m sorry, Susan, but we’re going to have to insist—”

“Wait.” Susan held up a finger.

“For what?”

Susan pressed a button on the side of the bracelet, saw a purple indicator light glow, then placed it against her chair’s read pad. “Here are his files.”

Grace’s eyes flicked to the side, taking in a new data window, with files flowing from the bracelet to her. “Why…”

“Tedd didn’t believe in destroying data. He kept it from you, yes, but he wanted someone to have it after he was gone. To develop it further.”

“And that someone was you?”

Susan laughed a little, then coughed for a few moments. “Excuse me. No, not me. I’m still as ignorant of magical theory as I ever was. But I was the guardian of his information.”

Grace continued to stare off to the side, apparently skimming the data files as they transferred to her. She looked stunned. “Good lord.” She shook her head, then turned back to Susan. “Why now? Why not give me these files last year, when he died?”

The bracelet chirped, and the purple light switched off. Susan lifted it from the read pad, and tapped it with a fingernail. “Because of this. This was my price for helping him.”

“What, a transformation? Into what?”

“Nothing sinister. Just myself. Myself at eighteen.”

“Susan… you know that that kind of transformation can’t be permanent. In fact… at your age, it will probably drain enough of your innate magical energy and life force to kill you.”

“Yes. Eventually. But not immediately.” She paused, took a few breaths, and said, “So, I’m asking you. As a favor. A _last_ favor. Don’t dispatch your agents to pick up this bracelet for another hour yet.”

“Susan…” Grace’s hard objective-oriented facade cracked, and her eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me too.”

Susan smiled gently at Grace, and said, “You won’t be alone. You have a whole litter of children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.”

“Yes, but…” Grace closed her eyes, and shuddered. “I never wanted to be the last of our generation to go.”

“But it’s been obvious for decades that you would be. You’re still working. Still mobile, and agile. Lucky squirrel.” Susan chuckled. “Remember when we feared you’d be the _first_ of our generation to go? Tedd was so afraid you’d inherited a squirrel’s short life span.”

Grace snorted, a small smile flicking briefly across her face. “Yeah. I’d always been… supernaturally healthy. When I got sick, I was sure I was dying.”

“Who knew squirrel-humans could get mange?”

Grace’s hand drifted to the back of her head and scratched, apparently unconsciously. She stopped herself, then took a deep breath. She stared at Susan with pleading eyes. “Please?”

For a moment, Susan’s resolve wavered, but then she shook her head. “It’s my time, Grace. Please let me have this one last… gift.” She paused for breath, then went on, “I’ve out-lived two husbands, and one of my own children. I’ve survived a civil war. I’ve lived long enough to see humanity turn to reason, helped our planet start to heal. I’ve cheered as our alien friends made formal contact with the rest of humanity. And now, I’m ready to say good-bye.”

“I can be there in twelve hours. Can’t you wait until I get there to hug you good-bye? Hold your hand as you go?”

Susan tapped the controls to roll her chair closer to the sliding glass doors that lead out to her garden, and looked out at the clear blue sky. A perfect day to die. “Thank you. That’s… kind. But.” She paused again for breath. “It took almost all my energy just to put this thing back together, and it wasn’t even all that complicated. I’m _dying_ , Grace. I’m tired, and I hurt all the time. I’m not sure I _have_ twelve hours. It’s just a feeling. But I’m pretty sure it’s time.” She gave a little laugh, and added, “Besides, you know me. Never much one for hugs. I think… I want to do this alone.” She looked back at Grace’s image. “Please.”

Grace stared at her, tears trickling down her cheeks. “But you’re my last living link to Sarah,” she whispered.

Susan snorted again, which set off another round of coughing. When she recovered her breath, she said, “Now you’re being melodramatic. Your _children_ are your living link to Sarah, Grace.” She paused, a stray thought scratching for attention at the back of her mind. “Oh. Almost forgot. There’s a message file for you, from Tedd, in that data dump. Explaining why he did what he did. Probably some other personal stuff, knowing him.”

Grace wiped at her eyes, and nodded. “Thank you.”

“So.” Susan took a deep breath, or at least as deep a breath as she could, and asked, “Do we have a deal? Will you give me an hour, before sending out the hounds?”

Grace closed her eyes and bowed her head, then nodded. “Yes. Though I don’t want you to die.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” said Susan. “But, all things have their time. Our lives have been better than most.”

“True.”

“My granddaughter should be back from the market in an hour or so. I’ve made sure she’s prepared for this eventuality, but it will still be a shock for her. Please ask your agents to be gentle with her, all right?”

“All right.”

“Good bye, old friend. I love you. And thank you for all the adventures along the way.”

“Good bye, Susan. I love you too.” Grace just stared at her, her wet eyes searching her face as if trying to commit her to memory. She made no move to end the call, so finally Susan, smiling gently, reached out and tapped the disconnect.

She sighed, and took a look—a last look?—around her room. Tedd hadn’t been able to give her any firm idea of how long she would remain transformed before the end. “Could be seconds. Could be minutes. At our age and stage, I doubt it will be more than ten minutes, tops,” he’d said.

“But it _will_ be painless?” she’d asked.

“Oh, yes. While transformed you won’t feel the torments of age, and as you use up the last of your energy, you’ll just pass out, drift to sleep, before reverting to your normal form.” He’d paused, then added conscientiously, “Dying in the process of that final transformation, of course.”

“Of course.”

 _Right_. She recalled one of Sarah’s sayings from when they were young. _Let’s do this thing._ She closed her eyes, pushed three buttons in sequence, and concentrated on her younger self.

There was a brief moment of vertigo, and then she felt—nothing.

 _Am I dead already?_ She opened her eyes, and looked down at her hands. Smooth, no wrinkles, no liver spots, and her crooked little finger where she’d broken it falling ten years ago was straight again. She took a deep breath, then deeper still.

 _Oh. So this is what no pain feels like. I’d forgotten._ All the aches and pains of aging, slowly accumulated, one at a time, over more than nine decades of life, normally provided a constant background noise of ache and discomfort that she’d just learned to ignore. Hesitantly, she put her hands on the arms of her chair, and pushed herself to her feet for the first time in years.

She was shocked that she didn’t even need to use her hands. She rose up so quickly that she almost fell over on her face, stumbling forward, then caught her balance with the agility of youth. She laughed with delight, then spun around in a circle. Her long black hair whipped around her like a curtain, and she spun to a stop facing the mirror.

A face she hadn’t seen in decades, except in photos, looked back at her. She blinked, and waved, just to make sure it was really her. Then she noticed what she was wearing, and laughed again. _I’d forgotten I was wearing this shirt the day Tedd made this recording._ She was in her old long-sleeve velour top that looked like a Star Trek uniform. She had lost it long ago, and wearing it again gave her an additional level of comfort and delight. She stared at herself for a moment longer, amazed at how beautiful she used to be. _Why didn’t I see that, then?_ Then she shook her head, and turned away from narcissistic contemplation. _Seconds, maybe minutes,_ she reminded herself. Though the boundless energy she felt lead her to hope that she might have the high side of Tedd’s estimate.

She’d devoted much thought as to what to do with her brief time. So many of the things she might wish to do with her borrowed youth required the presence of people long gone: her husbands, Marco, or Jasper; or her long-lost daughter, Samantha.

In the end, after much consideration, she’d settled on simple pleasures. She reached into the side pocket of her chair for the first. Chocolate had become almost as rare and valuable as gold in recent decades, but she’d acquired a small piece of it last month, in anticipation of this. She started to unwrap the precious treat as she walked to the sliding doors that lead from her room to the the backyard garden. She fumbled a moment with the lock, but after a moment of consideration, it recognized her fingerprint, and the door slid open.

Susan stepped out into the sun, and the scents of the flowers and grass—of _life_ , all around her—flooded her senses. She paused, stunned a moment, chocolate forgotten half-unwrapped in her hand. _I knew the sense of smell decreased with age, but I hadn’t realized how much I’d lost._ She closed her eyes and breathed deep, then opened them again to take in the riot of colors around her. _Sight too, apparently_. Smiling, she walked over to a bench and sat down next to a small garden fairy statue with only one wing, an inheritance from Sarah. She touched it briefly on the head in remembrance. She finished unwrapping the small thin square, ten grams of pure dark chocolate, and placed it in her mouth. She closed her eyes, and let the taste spread through her mouth as the chocolate melted on her tongue.

 _God. If I can’t have enough time for sex, this might be a close second-best._ She avoided swallowing for a long minute, letting the taste suffuse her senses, then she swallowed and sighed. _Mere minutes. Right._

She knew what she wanted to do next, but she felt slightly foolish. Then she shook herself. _What, I’m going to die of embarrassment or something?_ she scolded herself. She stood up and moved over to a patch of clear lawn, without flowers or trees to block her movements. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and imagined a soundtrack in her mind.

Then Susan danced. 

She wasn’t a professional. She had come to dancing relatively late in life, in her thirties, having been too shy to do it when she was younger. But her first husband, Marco, had loved to dance. And eventually, after several years of marriage, he had persuaded her to join him. She’d been shocked to discover how much she loved it. They had continued to dance all the rest of their time together, and she met her second husband, Jasper, at a dance club several years after Marco died in a car crash.

She had been afraid that her younger body might have no muscle memory of dance, but apparently her memories were strong enough to carry the day. She was aware she had limited time, but she threw herself into the dance, imagining a partner that was a blend of both her husbands twirling with her. She swooped and twirled, ducked and slid, reveling in the feeling not only of the dance, but in the strength of her body, a body that moved free of pain.

She danced for several minutes, gladly using the lion’s share of her allotted time in the dance. She slowly wound down. She was barely breathing hard, but she felt the wonderful warmth and looseness of muscles that had been vigorously used. She stood still a moment, enjoying her physicality, and mentally blew a kiss to her husbands. Smiling, she walked back over to the garden, pausing to sniff a rose. _So sweet_ , she marveled.

Returning to the bench, Susan turned in a slow circle, enjoying the spectacle of her garden. She hadn’t worked in it for years, but the design was hers, and her family had kept it up for her since she’d become unable to do so. She smiled as she remembered all the various children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren who had played in this beautiful space. Her descendants, people she’d in a sense made, enjoying the space that she’d made.

She yawned, and a wave of lassitude washed over her, almost knocking her off her feet. _Oh. So this is it, then._ She sat down on the grass, and leaned back against the bench _.Thank you, Tedd, for this final gift._  She struggled to keep her eyes open, gazing at the flowers in front of her, and felt tears of gratitude trickle down her cheeks.  _I wonder if I’ll see Samantha again?_  

Her eyes fluttered shut. She exhaled once, twice, then her form blurred, and reverted to the old woman she had been blessed to live long enough to become. Then Susan breathed no more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this is what comes from insomnia at 5 a.m. It just poured out of me. It's probably just pure sentimental sappy drek, but I'm too close to it to tell.


End file.
